The Wrath, the Wraith and the Furyan
by jhalya
Summary: In which building a home is not as easy as they thought. Collection of oneshots. R/F
1. Chapter 1 Xmas Story

**A/N: Hey there! As promised, this is the beginning of a new collection of oneshots featuring R/F. Most of them are written as gift-fics for my friends, but the setting and plot are pretty consistent. They will be published in a chronological order, so as to make them easier to place. As a warning, due to their nature, some of them may be OOC and most of them will involve adult-oriented scene (come on, R/F needs it!) and all of them were written for fun, so don't judge too harshly. As always, enjoy!**

**DISCLAIMER: not mine.**

**The adventures of Riddick and Fry at the North Pole**

**- **_**In which Riddick learns of a totally different side of Carolyn's**_** - **

Fry ever so slightly reached for the knife tucked safely away in her utility belt – something she could not find within herself to part with, even in her Hunter years – and slashed with lightning fast speed at the foggy surroundings. The pale Captain had always wondered if you could _actually_ cut a fog this thick with a blade.

You could.

She grimaced at the slice in the décor, a silver gushing wound that healed itself right back up. Closer to Furya's northern pole, the weather conditions had turned _defiantly _less welcoming. Not that the rest of it was a paradise ready to be populated. It was an arid wasteland of radioactive trash. But the terra-forming crew was already taking care of that. D'Jai Lya was head of that gruesomely boring operation. And somehow the quirky alien still managed to make it sound easy and fun-going. She had designed patterns of flourishing gardens with the help of inebriated closet-Furyans that thought all of it was a colossal joke. Little did they know…

But it had made them happy, the poor declawed kittens, children of a slaughtered generation. And it had made the ones in which the prowling beast sluggishly opened its eyes on occasion smile and carry on polishing their weapons of choice. Those were the ones she sometimes worried about. Worried if they would snap against her – and the Predator she represented – and severely be vacated of soul or against Riddick – and his animal ways – and quickly be dispatched to one form of hell or another. They cocked their heads warily nonetheless and let her be. Most of the times they didn't even see her, for Fry had reverted to wearing the cloak while on the ship that carried them to Furya. The sight of her gruesome scarring made them uncomfortable and she did not want to bear with their confusion on matters of pity and respect.

Naturally, they just _adored _Riddick and even in their fear of the great man they would busy themselves around him, from the tittering old to the stupidly young. It had taken him time to adjust, but Riddick was by nature a social creature. Sociopathic would be another word for it, Fry often joked with him. And as long as there were people around that would quell his sadistic need for amusement, he was content.

And, of course, there were the children.

That doted on his every move.

From the brown haired Ziza and her endless demand of stories to other boys and girls of Furyan descent that would grow up on heroic tales of Richard B. Riddick (most of which were recounted by Jack, God help them all!).

Nothing of what he did – however normal or mundane – could be anything less than fucking badass. He ate coal, he pissed gold. And shat diamonds on memorable occasions.

It infuriated her how easy he made people like him, despite themselves and despite who he really was.

Richard B. Riddick. Escaped convict. Murderer.

They were drawn to him like matter in a black hole.

It made her feel slightly…out of place. Like the humanity she still clung to was again something so puny and little in comparison with their natural prowess that it was bordering the ridicule. She felt pointless. And no amount of physical loving from Riddick (an aspect of their relationship he frequently indulged in) could shake the feeling of misplacement.

She missed her half-life with the Yautja. There were no strings attached with the bulky aliens. There was no staying of the weapon if they got her all riled up. They died. She lived on to hunt and slay the next hot topic, with no heed paid to pain. Yes. That was what she had been. Paid to pain. Here, back on Riddick's home_planet_, it was required of her to simply live, let live and – she highly suspected – give life. Like it was that simple.

The weary Captain sighed and watched her breath foam in front of her and then pierce the veil of fog in so many icicles. So it was going to snow after all. And possibly a storm was brewing in the distance. She felt it in her bones. Old bones that had seen too much of life in this Universe in too short a time. It was time to head back to the iso-tent she and Riddick had set up earlier in the whatever you called the timeline so far up north. She fumbled with her coms to check on Riddick.

Yes.

She knew.

Bad habit.

"Riddick, I've gone as far as the weather permits it. There's nothing here. No life forms 'cept some ice worms in the crevices up ahead. Thermal supplies, I figure. If we could come up with something to catch them with and not get third degree burns, that is. All around, everything's pretty still. I'm coming back to camp. Where you at?"

It took as long as her heart needed to hammer viciously against her chest for Riddick's voice to come rugged and disrupted over the small communicator in her ear.

"_Caught…_"

Heart stopped.

"…_storm…'re way…meet ya…cam_…_'me in_…."

Static.

Her heart protested to the rhythm her running body had imposed. Running to Riddick's last know location before their check-in a couple of hours ago. Her lithe body – a product of years of some form of deprivation or another – had pretty sharp angles with which to penetrate through the thick fog. Because, she had recently discovered, you could actually cut through fog. Or at least attempt to before skidding to a rather abrupt halt due to severe pain in the right ear.

Static.

Something Riddick's gravel like voice was most definitely not.

"Carolyn!"

Get up. Get going. His voice sounds close.

"_Ca-ro-lyn!_"

Keep moving. He must be close by. You can get to him in time.

"CAROLYN!"

"What?"

The woman yelled in the snowed up nothingness.

"Get that ass moving to camp…NOW!"

It was touching he liked her ass well enough to know it was safe back in the iso-tent but her frustration defeated that point.

"You will tell me where you are _**this instant**_!"

Her voice resonated unhindered by distance, temperature or howling wind. She willed him to hear her screaming madly in his ears – literally, she meant for a miniature Fry surgically inserted in his hearing cavity to box away at his eardrums. He had worse things done to himself. She wished for better lungs too, cause her own were obviously malfunctioning at the worst of times. Even at the best, if you counted her rather hushed sexual rituals. But Riddick was working on that.

"**Where…are…you**?"

Damn that man! Couldn't he stay out of trouble in his own freaking back yard?

"Breathe!"

"Bite me!" Lame comeback, she knew.

"I will. Once I get back to camp. We're you'll be. Get it?"

"Fuck you!"

"That too. Now move!"

Damn this planet and its fucked up weather and its fucked up people.

Damn her – what was it again? – strong survival instincts. Like, wasn't it enough?

Damn her stupid attempts at saving Riddick's life. Like, wasn't that enough too?

Damn her feeling so fucking trapped. So fucking needy. So fucking, bloody, freakin', noxiously in love with the man.

Because the root of the problem lay therein.

She loved him.

Basically.

Basically hard.

Yeah, that's right. Heart-stopping, hot-nail-through-the-head, stomach-twister, shiv-sharp-pain-in-your-vein love. She was as struck by the thought as the next person.

The mere idea of love in this day and age had been inconceivable for the once young pilot in training. Then nothing but a joke you laughed at with your crewmen once you were wasted enough to bring it up and lie about it comfortably. And then came the Great Obsession. And they lived through the end of the world, her and Riddick. And the only revelation she'd ever got – except the time she almost died for the rat-bastard, _willingly!_ at that – out of the whole mess was that they could be dead-tired – or just simply dead – and still have great sex. Or whatever it was they were making these days.

Love.

Babies. Possibly. Eventually.

God! The horror!

She fumbled with the opening to the tent only to be greeted by what was Riddick's fuming stance. She was shoved – unreasonably – inside the warm tent.

"Were you taking a fucking stroll?" the large man, clad in a woolen jumper and furred boots, asked impatiently and, Carolyn sighed at the reprimand, quite rhetorically.

"I was waiting to catch a glimpse of Santa…" she mocked grinned. "Instead I ran into the Grinch…"

"_**What?"**_

Riddick stared her down like she had gone off a very deep end.

Figures he wouldn't know, the blond woman shook her head in resignation. It was a surprise she even remembered the stories her folks had told her. Stories that belonged to children of other times and other planets in other systems.

Sol…Tales of the Old Earth. It was old and forgotten magic.

This was not the North Pole of ancient fables.

Looking up at him, Carolyn saw he wasn't wearing his goggles, blast the damn things. They reminded her of another man that looked just like him, one with a shiv up her throat. One with a smart mouth. Bare-eyed Riddick was usually hanging limply in her arms as far as memories were concerned. She had become comfortable with his eerie shined eyes.

It was just the two of them, stripped naked of all that made them so feared. No compliments.

And then the oddest thing happened. It sprung from her head – that head, on her shoulders, under a mop of slightly damp curls – and traveled to her mouth and rolled of her tongue. It tasted an awful lot like peppermint schnapps. Heady, yet refreshing at the same time:

"_Richard…_"

Someone had obviously taken the time of naming him properly. Given him a strong good name like Richard – a name fit for kings. It was a part of him, one he must have some form of attachment to, or else he would have foregone it for the more commonly known Riddick. But he always introduced himself by his full name and she never took the time to figure out why.

"You really are crazy, Crazy Carolyn." He rumbled.

Carolyn ambled herself towards him, reached out and wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her frosty face in his shoulder, nuzzling the bit of skin his jumper did not cover.

She wasn't tall enough, and with a defeated sigh, Riddick lifted her up, so she could drool and drip all over him during whatever crisis she was currently undergoing. At least he got to play in her hair and not get swatted for it. He rocked her from side to side, wondering where his legendary badass-ness had run off to and when had it been replaced by this simple content at having a slip of a nutty blonde tucked safely in his arms, while she was chanting his _name _and sobbing and sniffling and running her fingers down his sides and under his many layers of clothing and on his skin and down…hello there!

Crazy Carolyn was hitting on him. Hard. Off went his clothes, down went his pants, back went his body. Mercifully, it landed on the campaign bed, not somewhere…chilly. Not that he'd mind or notice. He was so hard, his brains seemed to have liquefied and traveled the length of his body with the stream of rushing blood. She was thin and frail and scarred all over. Her eyes were huge on her pale face, the blonde bangs curling and twisting in impossible patterns. But he couldn't see that. All he could see was an elfish looking woman-child that loved him with all she was worth. His crazy little Carolyn running small hands up and down his body, gently, oh so gently, as if he were the one to break. He watched her take his hands and place them on her hips as she engulfed his throbbing organ, slowly working her muscles against him. The smell of her arousal was riding the breath going between them as his hands set the pace for her almost weightless body. She was painfully tight around him, and yet her movements were silken smooth, building pleasure in him like waves teasingly lapping at a never reachable shore. She arched her back, pushing her chest forward, clasping her hands over his own at her thighs, nimble fingers rubbing against darker, longer ones. He would have liked nothing more than to reach out and take a pert nipple in his mouth, let it grow harder, like a small pebble and run his tongue over it to feel its tangy taste. But the pleasure-pain was coiling tight in his chest and deep in his loins and instead, he thrust forward, almost lifting Carolyn off the bed. She let out a repressed _aaahhh_, her inner muscles clenching tighter around him for support. She opened eyes she did not remember closing and locked them with his shined vision. And the word came again, softly whispered, barely audible for the rustle of their intertwined bodies:

"Richard…"

He almost came, then and there. But he surfed the tidal wave of his own orgasm, focusing his gaze on the movements of the woman's body, tense and little, working against his much larger one, harboring within it his engrossed manhood. To him, she was beautiful. It took every bit of his will power to partially stand up and kiss her fiercely on her pretty mouth. When their chests connected, sparks flew from the friction. Both of them came violently, she squeezing his worth inside of her, he filling her up with all his might.

They collapsed on the bead, a heap of tangled limbs and sweating bodies.

Riddick palmed the marks on her back, while Carolyn lay in a blessed state of numbness on top of him.

"It's annoying how much I love you…' he heard her say all of a sudden.

"Tell me about it."

"Hmph." Yup, Riddick, the Romantic.

"No, really, tell me about it."

In a flash she was up, staring at him like he sprouted another head, or turned furry and green.

He was serious. He just didn't know it himself. Didn't hope to know it. In Riddick's home_world_ people did not love the Riddick. Carolyn did not love Riddick. Fucked him, yes. But love? There was lust, there had always been. And obsession, and sacrifice and longing. And now there was time. Time in which she could call him Richard and he could learn to like it. He already liked it.

And he'd always liked her. Always.

But he needed to know if she was for real, not just some Crazy Carolyn stunt. Like the one she was pulling on him now, grinning broadly and whispering against his lips.

"Richard and Carolyn sittin' in a tree.

K-i-s-s-i-n-g!

First comes love,

Then comes marriage,

Then comes Richard with a baby carriage!"

"You know, I've gutted people for less…" he whispered back, rather begrudgingly.

"Hey, you wanted me to tell you. There you go!"

There he had it. Between manic fits of laughter and sex like he couldn't believe, Crazy Carolyn loved Richard B. Riddick.

Hey, worse things had happened to him.

**A/N: If you've reached this far, you must review:)**

…**please?**


	2. Chapter 2 Furyan Nights

**A/N: Thank you all for the encouraging start to my new stories:)...Because some of you requested a short recap of the story these chapters are based on, I put together a little synopsis of DYWTTTD. You can skip it if you like and jump directly to the new chapter! As always, enjoy!**

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><p><strong>Don't you want to try to die? Synopsis<strong>

In Deep Space, the part of the 'verse controlled by the Yautja Empire – the dreaded Predators with a knack for hunting – the blonde human Wraith, Scarback, Captain of the Kumary, hears of a disturbance across the borders: Necromongers and their fleet are sweeping through the Universe, converting or killing the Preds' favourite prey. Currently leading them to their sacred ground is Riddick, famous Bad Blood of the 'Verse, with an agenda of his own.

After counseling with her clan, Scarback Carolyn is sent to deal with the problem, and Fry – rescued, reborn and not so right in the head no more – knows exactly how to handle the situation. Catching up with Riddick face-to-face serves both of them a lesson as they decide to take the next step into the Underverse and bring back Jack, who may or may not be dead.

Joining them are a confused Vaako and a scheming Aereon, while back on the Basilica, Lya and Garreth – Fry's new crewmembers and fellow Wraiths – are storming the ship in order to rescue Jack's crypt from a Deep Space raid, not knowing that Riddick has placed his charge in the hands of a faithful follower, Gwendolen the Necromonger.

Once they reach the Underverse, Riddick, Carolyn and co. experience dream-like sequences featuring a cameo of good ol' dead Johns. Tensions run high as Riddick and Fry have to deal with the mounting strain between them. Shivs come out and blood is drawn and Imam has to mediate before both of them can reach hero status.

Once a truce is called and Vaako is back in the gang, they meet up with the true horror of Underverse in a place called Alysum: O'dley, a grotesque child who holds within her the many personalities of Jack: the girl Audrey, the stowaway and the vicious Kira. As realities split, each man must face a different facet of this dread, so Carolyn is stuck with an abused and repressed Audrey, while Riddick deals with a sexually frustrated Kira. Meanwhile, Vaako faces the former Lord Marshal and learns the secrets of his race.

Their battles lead to a rupture in the fabric of the Underverse and everything collapses around them. Victorious or not, they must now run for their lives and get out of this nightmare, hoping that Jack has found her way back. They barely manage to reach the ship, and Vaako is injured severely, but they fly off the planet and back to the 'verse.

Here, the Necro Armada has been defeated and the Yautja are waiting for the final trial. Also, other lost Furyans are making their appearance, with Lya, Garreth, Gwen and a still sleeping Jack as their hostages. In the arena, Riddick must make a stand in order to claim back what is his – or what he thinks is his – and Fry is none to happy about it.

After a fierce battle with a Predator, Riddick lapses into a coma from his injuries, leaving Carolyn to deal with a newly awoken Jack, a misfit Gwen, a bitter Vaako and her own clan. On top of that, Furyans are still tagging along in search for a home. Matters are settled, Riddick is up and about and Carolyn has to make a decision all over again: stand up and take Riddick's hand. Which – this time – she does.

In the end, Furyans, Wraiths, Gwen, Jack, Carolyn and Riddick set course for Furya and for building a new home. Many, many years later, a bed-ridden Jack hints at the difficulties they all faced with the daunting task of bringing Furya back to its former glory. Tales of new and old settlers, the battles fought and the ones they won, Jack tells of them all with happiness and sorrow intermingled. In her words, Fry and Riddick never parted, but that's another story…

…to be told in the _The Wrath, the Wraith and the Furyan._

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><p><strong>AN2: WARNING! This is a heavily M (from MATURE) rated chapter! Please read responsibly!**

**PS: Shalimar is the Muslim doctor from Deep Space entrusted with Carolyn's health after the Pred recovery-technology began to endanger her life. She is now a permanent resident of Furya. That being said, I give you…**

…_**Furyan Nights - **_**"Don't You Want To Try To Die" universe, OneShot sequel. Nights on Furya were not what Fry expected them to be. RxF**

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><p>The night was hot and damp, a true Furyan skin-itcher. Having been used to the arid temperatures of the Yautja homeplanet, Carolyn had expected to accommodate rather soon to the sweaty smooth feeling the nocturnal Furyan saunas would inevitably bring on. Instead, her skin felt tight and prickly and she had to repress the urge to rake the flesh off her already traumatized back with her bare hands. Her self-control was crawling helpless between the long discarded sheets, but she refused to give in to temptation lest she molest the man who was slumbering away beside her, unaware of the blonde woman's distress.<p>

She let out a quiet sigh and squirmed a little on her side of the bed, trying to stick to as natural a movement as possible. The day had been long and equally frustrating, with Riddick not speaking, but growling at best. He had only relatively calmed down after a shower marathon – the number of sessions having grown alarmingly from five to twelve a day – and slumped on the bed for the first time in three days. That was were she had found him, gloriously naked and clean, goggles left on the floor for her to trip on. He liked to remind her that for all the things Carolyn could do, seeing in the dark was not one of them. And the monster didn't even pull the curtains so the room was dimly lit by not one, but two Furyan moons. Yet another reminder of how she should really let Shalimar have a look at her prematurely failing vision. He liked doing that to her. Talking rarely ever had the same effect as showing her first hand that he was right and she was wrong in the inevitable arguments that came between them.

She had stripped in silence, waiting for the tell-tale twitch in his body that would inform her it was safe to climb into bed and not get a shiv in the gut. Barely perceptible, she would feel it in her stomach and sometimes in the back of her eyes, like she did all his movements. She had wiggled her small body under a scrap of a cover, because, of course, Riddick could not be bothered to pull it away and slept on top of it.

He was really in a foul mood. Or maybe just tired. There were things that needed to be done on Furya that required his active presence, but Carolyn had soon found out that bringing several head-strong, defiant Furyans together, none of which had the slightest respect for authority, did not bide well for a successful outcome. It was simply too early for trust. Which left Riddick to being Riddick. A badass motherfucker who would sooner shoot you than salute you. Carolyn herself had earned a reputation of being allergic to people. But generally things got done. Eventually.

She had been asleep for an hour, maybe two, when the itching began. She had pushed the sheets away and rolled on her other side, with her back to Riddick, and actually wished for a rougher mattress. Which was big, considering the hassle she had gone through with Shalimar in finding just the right mattress that would be perfect for her reconstructed back, while Riddick swore he would not let her live that one down. Not all people were fortunate enough to be able to sleep on logs, like he did, lucky bastard. Just like he did now, oblivious to the irritating atmosphere and what it did to her skin.

Suddenly pissed with the whole thing, Carolyn reached with her hand and scraped her fingernails against the small of her back, in an attempt to alleviate the burning prickling sensation. She didn't like touching her own back, feeling the dents of countless scar marks and all. Thinking that scratching this hard would probably add a new set to it. Apparently, Riddick was thinking the same way, because he reached for her hand and held it still.

"Stop it!"

Carolyn rolled over to him and found herself staring into his silvery eyes, her right hand trapped underneath her by his larger one.

"Hello to you too." They hadn't seen each other at all that day.

Riddick's lips parted in a mischievous grin as he gave her lean body a full scan. She was bony, she knew it. And had scrawny knees.

"Have an itch you can't scratch?"

She smirked back at him, watching in fascination as the not so slumbering beast crawled on top of her, nuzzled her neck, biting and laving the soft skin there with his tongue, as the captor hand released her smaller one and petted her back like he did with his hounds. Her slender fingers took hold of the back of his neck, working the tense muscles, while her left hand traveled the length of his freshly shaven scalp.

"Maybeee…" she drawled, lost in the sensation of accommodating his naked body to her own.

He snickered and ran a calloused hand down her back, up her thigh and rested in the crook of her right knee, lifted it and hooked her leg on his waist.

"Well, then maybe you should take a bath..."

She closed in on his mouth and violently pushed herself in, feeling the texture of his tongue against her own. Carolyn deepened the kiss to the point she was practically wolfing him down and bleeding her own lips, but that always happened when he was being particularly anal about something. If she could get hurt off him, then she'd guilt trip him like nobody's business. And some people called that love.

Riddick backed out of the devouring kiss and lapped at the tiny droplets of blood the clenching of their teeth had sprinkled on his good girl's lips. She was being feisty tonight. And bitchy to boot.

"I would if someone hadn't used up all the hot water."

Riddick didn't mind an aggressive Carolyn. Especially in bed. It didn't happen as often as he would have wished it, aggressive or not. There always seemed to be something else to do, something time and energy consuming. Months and months after the end of Furya's do-over and he could actually still count how many times he had had Carolyn in bed or elsewhere. Usually elsewhere. There was a conspiracy, he knew it. There were the purist Furyans urging him to take a pure-blooded female as mate, as if there were oodles of them just loitering around, then there was the rest of the Furyan population eagerly awaiting for an heir, pure blooded or not, and Shalimar was all over him to take it easy on Carolyn who was still recovering from all the previous recoveries and the Preds breathing down his back to get their prized Wraith and their prized Hunt and Carolyn herself, erecting barriers he systematically had to destroy in order to keep her from hurting him beyond repair.

Under these circumstances, wrestling Carolyn to bed, in bed or out of it, was fast becoming his favorite sport. He supported his crushing weight on strategically positioned arms so as to allow access to that which he could never get enough of: the feeling of her hair wrapped around his fingers. He had even gone into the habit of cutting it for her just to stop the woman from hacking it unevenly. Carolyn's hands came down from behind and rested on his face, ghosting over his cheekbones and finally drawing his head closer to her quieted lips. He complied and let her kiss his eyes, before he broke loose and buried his nose in the mass of her blonde hair. He could feel himself throbbing with need for her, augmented by the brush of her nipples as she arched against his chest and by the things her wet tongue did to his ear. In retaliation, he sucked on her earlobe and whispered coarsely in the fragile shell:

"Then let's break some sweat, babe!"

True to his words, he untangled his fingers from her hair and slipped down her body until he reached her heaving chest. He liked the way his woman tasted. It was like biting out of fresh apples every time he took her breasts in his mouth. He was never gentle about it, could never bring himself to remember how soft she was there and more often than not, he left purplish marks in his trail. He was borderline sadistic about it, sucking and nipping and laving and sometimes brushing his unshaven jaws against the pert tips till they turned irritably red in his eyes. Tonight he would not stop until he heard her scream with need for him to cease.

Her hands, cradling his skull, were not defensive, her legs, wrapped around his waist, were still lax, with one heel resting comfortably on his right cheek and swaying gently in sync with his body.

So, Riddick molded his palm around one of her breasts and pushed it up, leaving the tender underside flesh open to his invasive mouth. He nibbled at first, satisfied with the tangy taste of her skin, but that didn't last long and was not nearly enough to intoxicate his heightened senses. He didn't feel like drawing blood. Yet. And she wasn't as tense as he would've liked her to be. Her eyes were closed and she seemed content, lost in the pleasure his body gave her. She was baiting him. And Riddick didn't like to disappoint her. He gave the breast one last lap and quickly moved to the other, this time nearly taking it whole into his mouth, his teeth sinking avidly into her flesh. She arched in response, pushing herself up, just as Riddick grazed her tightened aureole. His hand clasped the discarded breast, his finger thumbing her nipple, as his tongue laved the soft marked globe over and over again, before he latched his mouth firmly to it, rolling the small circular tip against his palate. Carolyn was already writhing beneath him, somewhere between insane pleasure and dumb pain, her heart rate doubled and her breathing hard.

Riddick could feel it in the back of his throat, as he roughly worked her breasts with his hand and mouth. Letting go with a small pop, he frowned at her ravaged chest, not quite pleased with the results, although her fingernails had dug deep in his shoulders and her legs were rubbing his body down pleadingly. Looking up, he could see her glittering eyes underneath pale eyelashes and he could hear her whimpering in some sort of agony. Her small hand ran over to his lips and he took the fingers in, not quite biting, but applying pressure with his teeth while his tongue circled her fingertips. She tasted so good, she smelled so damn fine, it was unnatural. And he could feel that in his painfully hardened length. But Riddick was a man on a mission and Carolyn owed him at least one scream. So, he bowed his head down again, kissing his way through the patch of skin between her breast, running his wet lips down to her bellybutton, forcing himself to stay there and not follow her scent deeper southwards, his hands still cupping the rounded flesh of her chest. Then he went up again and with his head cocked to a side he bit down on her right breast, eliciting a strangled cry from Carolyn, who immediately wound herself tighter around him.

He brushed his tongue one last time over her chest, stopping to suckle on her fiery nipples and nip the darkened aureoles until she bruised and thundered in his ear:

"_Riddick…Fuck!_"

He had to laugh at that one, simply because he couldn't disagree. His own body was beginning to vigorously protest against her inner thigh. And she was beautifully slick and wet and inviting.

"Enough sweat for ya, huh?" he drawled languidly as he positioned himself at her entrance. In response, she spread her legs wide apart, making room for his rather massive frame, one hand low on his back, urgently pushing him in, the other between his shoulder blades, where it seemed to belong even after all this time.

Surprised at how she opened up to him like never before, exposing herself in all her wet glory for his elongated organ to possess, Riddick scouted for the entry scar wound on her back, shielding it with his rough palm, while his other hand circled her shoulder. In one swift motion, he was within her, pushing himself against her constrictive muscles. She was so damn small and tight and resistant that he had to grit his teeth in agonizing ecstasy. He hoisted himself up for more leverage and drank in the image of the woman underneath him. Cast in shades of dark violet, her eyes large and murky with pleasure in the half-light of the two clouded moons, her hair moist, the Mark bloody red on her forehead, her lips parted with the effort of breathing, she looked…all his.

Carolyn held his gaze, knowing that every time he slept with her, he claimed another little part of her and that soon he would own her completely. She used to fear that. When they were together like this, with him deep inside her, grinding himself against her, slowly at first and then quicker as he blew past her defenses and her insatiable need of him grew stronger, she feared she would lose herself to him. This night was different. This night she got up and murmured against his sweaty lips, trying to pry them open with her tongue:

"Riddick…it's okay…please…"

She moaned at the touch of their chests, hers still aching with his abuse. But she found the sensation strangely pleasurable, the tip of her breasts stroking his chiseled chest in perfect motion with their bodies. It sent tingles down her spine and fires low in her belly. It was like an itch you could scratch, so she smiled and did it again, this time on purpose. Riddick groaned fiercely and ground her further against him, taking her mouth in as she languidly stroked him with her fingers. Her tongue duplicated the movement of her hands on his back, lavishing his palate with her savory softness. But her hips suddenly set a quicker pace, her inner muscles drawing him deeper inside, the friction ever more satisfying.

Balls deep, one hand fisted in her hair, the other raking her back, his mouth perused by her lapping tongue, Riddick found himself not in control of this woman, but rather reacting naturally to the rhythm set by her burning body. Detaching her mouth from his, she cried out as she worked herself to a climax, her eyes never leaving his. His head was buzzing with sensory overload: the woman was holding out for him, smelled ripe, tasted heavenly and felt like wet rippling silk wrapped around him. He pulled out, just to see her eyes go wide with shock and plunged back in with a mischievous smirk.

"That's for you being such a nasty tease, Carolyn…"

She was being random and rapt of a mind-altering orgasm and he endeavored to keep her that way for a while longer, at the cost of his own obvious discomfort. He continued his torturous game, pulling out swiftly and pushing back in slowly, while she arched her back and twisted her body violently. With one last effort of will, he grabbed her knees and rammed into her with a victorious roar. He was rewarded with the scream he had been going for all night, coming from deep within her chest as she came over and over again.

The night finally fell silent and Riddick tucked her head beneath his chin and smoothed the damp curls off her forehead. They were both soaked in each other's juices and earlier, Riddick had even lapped up the mingled fluids off Carolyn's thigh before gently kissing her swollen folds. He could smell _him_ all over her. And all over him he had her scent. They probably even tasted similar. And in his world, that was as right as it would get. All protests from Carolyn were encompassed in a muffled sigh:

"Richard B. Riddick, you're such an overachieving bastard!"

…heh.

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><p><strong>...Review? You'd really make my day!<strong>


	3. Chapter 3 Rainy Days

**A/N: Hello there! I hope everyone is enjoying a wonderful Sunday wherever you are! It astounds me to see how many people from different countries around the world read this story (or access it) and for all of you silent readers out there: don't be afraid to review, even if it's just to say hi! I'd really appreciate that:) If not, I guess it's okay and I can only hope you enjoy these stories! **

**Well, folks, have a nice time with this piece as well, it's a little deeper than the rest. I think when I wrote it I was aiming for a little more drama, so, please, tell me what you think!**

**DISCLAIMER: Property of David Twohy, which means it's not mine!**

**RAINY DAYS **

_**Fights were a regular occurring, but so were Riddick's premonitions!**_

The rainy season on Furya is no fun. There are things to do, that can only be done while water from the sky firmly lodges onto one's clothes and seeps against one's skin, drenching it in slithery rivulets like so many lapping tongues of ice. Carolyn thoroughly despises it, this feeling of wetness against her body. An old Predator phobia, she guesses. Their world is always so barren and cruel and hot. And the water is never good for the cloak either. The water is never good for her memory. So much madness and loss comes with rain. It drains the hope away, circling it down an ineffable hole in the world. A very dark hole.

But Furyans enjoy this veritable downpour. It means the earth will be thick with juices once more. It means plants will grow greener still than the year before. It means their world is alive once more. Carolyn doesn't always understand that. Their happiness at the sound of rolling thunder and splashing waters. But she can live with it. There are many things she doesn't understand about Furyans. She's learnt not to make a tragedy out of it.

She steps lightly on the terrace of her new home and sheds the impermeable hoodie. The house is quiet but for the sound of fresh seasonal rain. She pads silently into the cool twilight of the house, checking to see if her boys are home. Sure enough, Taco is whimpering against a large down pillow, next to a roaring fire. The jackal hates the rain as much as she does. That doesn't stop her from making fun of him though.

"Comfy, Tac?"

Taco gives her his best "are you fucking with me?" look and growls to hide a whimper because the light flashed and that means thunder is on its way soon.

When the sound hits his sensitive years, he ducks further into his pillow, his tail lashing comically around.

Carolyn snorts.

"You are a walking tragedy, Taco." But she bends to scratch his big head soothingly nonetheless. She knows he's got issues. The jackal tongues her hand sloppily as thanks.

Carolyn fuels the fire both for Taco and herself. She can feel the cold in her bones. She isn't as young and fit as she used to be. Even rec jobs in Deep Space can't stop time. Sure, she takes the Pred cocktail shots Shalimar prescribes for her on monthly basis, but she still feels tired after a hard day's work. Sometimes, she can't even stay out all night long, doing the city rounds. What once was a nerve calming ritual, had become quite the hassle lately. She still does it though – ghosting around town, closing in on the vibrating Furyan darkness, listening to the wind and what little wild life they managed to accommodate here, making sure there is no threat – but all the while she thinks of the warmth of her bed and the warm bodies waiting for her at home: Taco snoring on his pillow, Bob on watch on the terrace and Riddick, in bed, dozing off the day's chores. She suspects he is slightly lazier these days too, but his massive ego won't let her be right on that account.

Carolyn shivers. Riddick is at his prime, but she feels stretched thin. Old. They don't talk about that. They _fight. _Horrible fights that have the dogs – Taco the Jackal and Bob the Hellhound – looking somewhere else for cover. They don't make up for days. She doesn't want to know how Riddick vents his frustrations. There are rumours, but she shuts them out. She simply doesn't care. She simply wants Riddick to think she doesn't care. She takes Bob and shuns Taco – his dog, not hers – and goes mountain-climbing. It's good exercise and Bob loves it. And by the time she reaches the steep Furyan summits she's blissfully numb. She's gone for days and sometimes weeks when Bob looks at her with his shining Hellhound eyes and there's an unbearable ache tugging at her heart. She feels her chest is going to crack open and it has nothing to do with the mind-blowing height. That's all the signal she needs: it's time to go _home. _

Home is by the time she climbs down a mess. Taco always eats in industrious quantities when he's depressed and usually leaves a mess behind in her perfectly tidy kitchen. Taco likes her. Taco misses her when she's not around. Taco is jealous when Bob gets all the attention. Taco ambushes her and she's on her back in the dirt in two seconds flat with a massive jackal hovering over her and giving her a rough jackal smooch, complete with a scraping tongue, biting canines and puppy drool. Lotsa puppy drool. Bob intervenes and a fight breaks out. After a few woofs and a couple of whams they both follow her diligently into the empty house. It takes her roughly an hour to have the house spotless clean, both dogs fed and the bed made. It takes her another five to spot Riddick walking silently down the road. It takes her two whole days to recover from his love-making.

He's fucked up when she's not around, they tell her. More so than usual. Shalimar urges her to consider the treatment she has in mind. It's still possible for her to remain pregnant. There is a chance. Small, but there. She says nothing and instead goes home and curls around Riddick and cries.

He doesn't know what to say. He's slept with other women. Some of them Furyan. He wished he could say he feels guilt. Some part of him does, he thinks. But the larger part of him is slightly more practical and whispers in his mind that none of the women he's fucking relentlessly when she leaves him have her smell, her hair, her eyes and her scarred skin. Eventually, he stops fucking other women, though they still fight and she still leaves. He's gone into the habit of following her when she does so. He doesn't care if she knows he's there, sulking in the shadows. He watches her hunt and grudgingly admits that she's good. A tad better than him, at times. In his defense, he's not so keen on all that Pred tech. It's around the sixth or seventh time when he goes stalking after her, smack in the middle of her skinning her prey and idly chatting with Bob, that he imagines her teaching his children how to properly disembowel and cut the meat off an animal. He imagines boys with her eyes and girls with her hair. And he wants them. He wants to hold these boys and girls of his imagination close to him. To look at them and touch them. To laugh with them and teach them how to balance a shiv just the right way. To hear their laughter around his big house. To watch them play with the dogs, watch Taco and Bob fight for their – his children's – love.

He doesn't fight with Carolyn so often after that.

Carolyn just thinks he's figured out that it's pointless and useless to fight and most likely bad for her back. The rain rages on outside and the terrace is almost flooded. Popping his head from behind the watery curtain, Bob pads stealthily inside. He flicks his scales slightly to get rid of the excess water and Carolyn catches him in the act.

"If you're gonna leave mud prints all over the floor, you're sleeping outside!"

Busted.

There's a line of muddy dog prints trailing behind Bob that the Hellhound eyes dubiously, like he doesn't know how that came to be. He locks his brilliantly shining eyes with Carolyn's burning blues and cocks his head.

"Don't give me the puppy eyes, Bob, those don't work on me no mo'". She's lying through her teeth, of course. She can't resist the sparkle.

Carolyn grabs a cloth from the corner peg and starts cleaning the offending paws. Being under the threat of an uncomfortable kick out the door – and the more deadly prospect of having that sneering jackal hog the Fire and the Pillow – Bob complies with Carolyn's brutal activities. No Hellhound in existence has probably been so thoroughly cleaned because she doesn't stop at his legs but gives him a quick dry off as well. Bob sort of likes being ruffled, so he purrs contentedly.

"Giving him the rough treatment?"

Riddick is home.

Taco abandons the comfort of his pillow for a scratch on the head and a quick pat only to have Bob take advantage of his absence and claim the Fire Place. Both dogs bar their teeth ready for a bit of a brawl when Carolyn puts a swift end to it. She flings a coverlet on the other side of the Fire Place and Bob goes chasing. He does battle with the fluffy contraption for a while before settling down on it. Meanwhile, Taco is Master of the Pillow once more.

"Divide and conquer. Good tactic."

Riddick advances on Carolyn, careful not to leave any mud prints behind him. He doesn't want to sleep on the floor with the dogs tonight.

"They drive me insane."

"Mhhmm." Riddick nuzzles her neck from behind. More often than not, it's her, not the dogs, that drive _him_ insane.

"Affectionate, are we?"

"It's an animal thing."

Carolyn laughs gently and turns to him.

"You never get tired of that line, huh?"

Riddick is not pleased with her restricting his access to her neck and he's about to protest when she takes his mouth, sweet and sin like.

She tastes better than any woman should have the right to. And that takes his mind off her unusual behavior. Carolyn is not known for coming onto him unless it's with a blade under his chin. The tongue in his mouth is a nice improvement.

He grunts something indecipherable in response and deepens the kiss. He's not letting go of her mouth and skillful tongue tonight.

Her hands ease their way to his head and she gently massages his temples, all the while smiling against his devouring lips. She breaks the kiss, just because he's too distracted by the magic of her bony fingers against his scalp. The skin there is smooth – proof of his talent in wielding a shiv when grooming – and her hands are not – they're rough and scarred and perhaps even a little burned – which does wonders for the friction.

"I've been meaning to catch a moment with you…", Carolyn breathes in his ear, "alone…" her hands travel southwards to the fly of his cargo pants "…unrestrained…"

Carolyn giggles when he pulls her up and strides to their bedroom. Gone are the days when he'd have her on the nearest available surface. She doesn't know if it's her back, his knees or the dogs, but they usually make it to a nice, comfy mattress before he drives himself in her with the force of the animal he claims to be.

It takes a while before they're both completely sated and tonight they are taking it slow. He's impressively big and she's weepingly tight and together they're all that.

The rain sweeps through Furya and the morning never comes as they lay in bed, naked and glistening with sweat. He follows the patterns of her scars with his fingers and she breathes in the tantalizing scent of his strong body. Her eyes are closed. His eyes are awake and vigilant. He doesn't feel the need to dream right now. He doesn't want to dream right now.

Carolyn speaks first.

"The chances are small. Barely there at all. Too much…of everything."

This is how all their fights finish.

But they're not fighting now.

"Gotta throw the dice while it's hot, that what I always say..." he smirks, realizing that's what she's been doing tonight.

"I could die…"

"Because of the treatment?"

"Because of the pregnancy!" She gives him a good jolt for being a stout example for the male conception on…conception.

"That's not gonna happen."

The boys with her eyes and the girls with her hair…

"We have only one shot at this."

He smirks again, all knowingly.

"When'd you turn so skittish, Carolyn?"

"I don't wanna fuck this up."

"We won't."

Her heart shouldn't be fluttering like this at her god-given age, dammit!

"So, you might wanna decide now if you want a boy or a girl and be prepared to be disappointed either way."

"I don't like to be disappointed."

"Sucks to be you."

Riddick smiles his toothy grin. The children smile back at him, beautiful pairs of shining eyes that he and Carolyn created.

He turns to look at the woman in his arms. In the light of the creeping Furyan dawn, to his impaired vision, he thinks her eyes look almost green…wet…beautiful.

...**review?**


	4. Chapter 4 The Animal Side

**A/N: For CALB, who had somewhat of a panic attack and melted my cold, cold heart :P**

**DISCLAIMER: not mine.**

**THE ANIMAL SIDE**

_**Riddick reminisces on a cold night.**_

The great animal inside stirs languidly, stretching muscles sore with exertion. Its cage is of its own making, silken and fleshy, the air damp with the smell of sex. Good, rough sex, the kind that leaves marks in the morning. But here – on the quietly moving vessel, there is no morning, only a serene type of twilight that has it, the slumbering beast, just on the edge of comfort. It's not dark enough for it to fully rise, awaken and roar, but not too bright either as to hinder its movements.

It does not want to move though, trapped as it is in a tangle of sweaty limbs. It sniffs the air and scents assault it: his woman, fighting her way through sleep, her thighs sticky with blood and other comingled fluids, a potent smell of peppermint wafting strongly from her hair; the child, a queer scent to her, far off in another room, huddled next to another female, tall and strong and somehow _dead_ ; and then another strong scent-trail, that of an alien woman, of boots, leather, sweat, patrolling up and down the corridor, and then another…and another…and another… and even more of its kind, from high above, where his ship is conjoined with the other.

There's too much light to bear and too many scents to track and it's distracting it, the animal decides. Its true goal is lying in its arms, restless and tense, moaning quietly under her breath. She put up a hell of a fight, the woman did, and it had to claw into her inch by bloody inch. And even then the power of her body, wrapped around his human body tighter than a steel shackle, thighs and knees and the sopping walls of her sex drawing him in, robbed the animal of its senses, of its reason, of any _fuckin' _coherent thought, until all it knew was blood and flesh and her never ending scream. It had bit down hard and the taste of her blood was immensely gratifying, for the beast inside had longed for it on its tongue since those wretched winged beasts had first drew it from her. He'd been jealous and _loud _then, he was smug and proud now.

That's when she elbowed him in the mouth and he almost bit off a part of his tongue. His vision swam in hues of deep purple, but even so he could see her clear eyes, riddled with passion and pain. He licked and lapped at her bruised neck and aching shoulder, gently, even as she dug her nails in his back. She kept calling him, growling low in her throat…_Riddick…Riddick…_but he'd paid no mind. Men had always called him that so he supposed it was his name, but he was nobody's pet so he didn't feel compelled to answer. He dealt in death and darkness, this animal did, and if the woman wasn't careful, she was going to get just enough of both.

There was no fear in her however when he reached up to have a go at her lips. She fused their mouths together, her hands holding his head in place even as her teeth came into play. He snaked a hand around her, all the way to the small of her back, arching her up and eating up all the oxygen she had left until she broke free and threw her head back recklessly. She'd break her fragile bones if she kept doing that, he'd somehow thought then and all the life blood that thrummed through her veins like a river of fire would go cold and stale to his taste. He'd never allow that. And that's why the hand on her back started petting her, carefully, soothingly, easily gliding over skin slick with sweat and rough with scars. He'd nip and lick at bony fingers trying to push him away and claw at his face, moving against her in a slow, placating rhythm, a full body caress meant to ease her temper and build her need for something only he could and would provide.

He'd been blind all along, keeping his eyes shut, better to hear her, better to gauge the vapid reactions of her high-strung body, better to feel her inside and out. But when his eyes flashed wide and silver, he felt the shift in her body before his vision ever registered it. She flushed hot red from the roots of her pale hair to the tips of her flustered nipples, her teeth grinding against each other in the sexiest possible way. Her thighs grew instantly wet and her palms felt sweaty where she had them propped against his upper arms.

_Interesting._

Her scent changed too, from angry to aroused to a whole new level of furiously aroused that kept him pounding inside of her until he lost it and had him fucking her unconscious. And with his release came the weight, warmth and intoxicating hair nestled close against him. The animal slept.

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><p>Riddick wakes up with a jolt, rearing and ready for combat, only to find himself laying cold in his bed because Carolyn had rolled over on her side taking half the cover with her. She argued she was basically catering for two people now so he couldn't complain. He would have countered she was catering for herself and a tadpole floating in a puddle of amniotic fluid, but considering it was <em>he <em>who put it _there_, he kept quiet. Sex was hard to come by these days, judging from his constant wet dreams, which he really should have grown out of years of ago, so he dares not dig his own hole and just lightly jumps over it. Still, that doesn't make him any less warm and even though Carolyn is being absurd, she's like that while hogging both his and her cover.

He tugs gently only to have her stir and move about.

"So...[yawn]…which one was it this time?" she asks groggily.

He keeps tugging, not particularly caring for this line of conversation, but nevertheless he admits somewhat begrudgingly:

"First time. On the _Kumary_."

"Hah…I bashed you a good one then, didn't I?"

Seeing as his efforts are futile, because Carolyn would not be budged, he edges closer and whispers wetly against the side of her neck:

"Just say it. It was still a helluva night."

At this, Carolyn turns her body around and eyes his naked self skeptically. Whatever she might have wanted to say ends up being "You should really wear more clothes."

"Mmmhmm…Why? Am I distracting you?"

"Every morning and occasionally after midnight. You know, sometimes I'm afraid I'm going to get a rash or somethin'."

He smiles his feral smile even though he knows Carolyn is nothing but serious with him.

Her pale eyes stare back at him intently before journeying south for a quick diagnostic.

"Well, you can't be _that _cold. Looks…_operational_…to me."

He just loves it when she does a sys check on him.

"It is, too."

He lifts her astride him all bundled up in warm covers, her hair sticking out at odd angles, her eyes wide awake.

"And you _did _bash me a good one" he says remembering his rather aching jaw and split lip.

She wiggles on top of him, trying to chinch the part of him she wants all hot and ready against the part of her that's been wet and ready for hours while listening to his heavy breathing and half moans, and scolds him mercilessly.

"That's because you weren't doing it right!"

She's lying of course, because she can't remember half the things that happened that night, except the feeling of him inside of her, as it should have been all those years ago.

"Oh, really?"

"Yes, yes. Now pay attention" she orders softly and exhales blissfully when her efforts pay off and he's right where he belongs.

"Because I'm gonna show you how it's _really_ done."

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><p>…<strong>review?<strong>

**PS: wrote this in a hurry so be gentle, okay?  
><strong>


	5. Chapter 5 Odd Hours

**DISCLAIMER: Not mine. **

**WARNING: Mature themes ahead. Read at your own risk.**

**- **_In which much is lost and fiercely won back -_

Riddick was known for keeping the occasional odd hours, but he was in bed, at night, when he woke up in a puddle of blood. Carolyn was sound asleep beside him and he woke up soaked in her sweet scented blood. She didn't stir when he jerked up as if the blood were scalding and slept for two more days – this time in a hospital bed, in a pristine white room that hurt his eyes – until she finally came round, wide eyed and babyless.

Carolyn hadn't been exactly plump the first time he'd met her back on the planet, but she'd been a woman in all the right places, even underneath her company issued uniform. She was still womanly in her Deep Space attire, complete with scars as tight as a restraining jacket. She was his little warrior, after all, and a little skinnier for the wear, but passion flowed inside her like a river on fire. Now, in a white shirt, in a white room, she looked small, as if, along with the baby, her body had flushed out a significant amount of weight. Only her eyes, blue, cold and solid, seemed to keep her anchored to the ground.

Carolyn stripped the shirt off, showered, got into her regular clothes and went home, with Riddick trailing behind her, carefully treading into her diminutive shadow. Home, by then, was spotless and empty. Riddick knew Jack had moped and scrubbed and cried bitter tears. Bitter crocodile tears, until her hands blistered and bled. She'd come to him, _sorry, sorry, sorry_ spilling from her mouth, _sorry, sorry, I'm so sorry_ as she savagely ripped the bed-sheets and burned them, like she would her shame. Now, generally, Riddick wasn't one for reassuring people, but he did his best, because this was Jack and Jack was confused at the best of times and because…well, because he _knew_. He knew that the adoration in Jack's eyes sometimes morphed into something else she couldn't entirely hide and he never really had much of an answer to that.

So he settled for 'You didn't do this' – which was more of a courtesy on his part to the little girl of his memories than to the hysterical woman burning bloody sheets in his house. 'I was so happy for you, really I was, so, so happy…'

For a short period of time, until the reality of Carolyn having Riddick's child sank in and happiness turned into shock, into regret, into lost hopes, into the horrible, horrible truth that he would never, ever…

'I never meant for this to happen, I love her, I…' _love you_ and that was the truth.

'You didn't do anything' _stop crying_ he wanted to tell her but in the dark corners of her soul maybe she _did _want to prevent it, to undo it, to make it less real, and he knew, but couldn't be angry, because this was Jack and Jack didn't loose the baby. He wondered very briefly if he was actually angry with Carolyn, but found, rather surprisingly, that he was angry at himself for believing – for _blindly _believing, which really went against all his well-forged convictions – in dreams and visions and such.

Carolyn went into the house, left the lights shut – which she never did on account of her poorer vision – and waited for him to trudge home. In the dark, she waited for him, patiently, perfectly poised, sharp as a well balanced shiv and calculating, while he just felt uncharacteristically defeated by the weight she had somehow transferred unto him. His body felt heavy, _heavier_, and tiresome, so that by the time he laid down at Carolyn's feet, resting his head against the couch she was sitting on, cross-legged, the wearisome sigh that had steadily built at the top of his chest for the past couple of days broke free with a vengeance.

'Give up?'

'No.' but he wasn't sure he meant it.

That night, Carolyn slept sprawled on the couch and Riddick on the floor with Carolyn's dangling hand as company. He bit her fingers in the morning, she swatted him, they woke up, had breakfast, retrieved the dogs and each went their own separate ways, only to come together again at the end of the day. They slept less, ate less, fucked less or not at all.

If people knew what was going on – and they did, they didn't let on, which Carolyn thought was silly and highly conspicuous. Jack was morose and Carolyn would have worried, but she caught the glint in Riddick's eyes and dropped it. It was always safer, she believed, not to get between whatever Jack and Riddick had that caused his eyes to close up that way – his shine turning into pools of unrelenting quick silver.

She carried on with the shots the doc prescribed until one day, when, staring at herself in the mirror and then staring at the needle in her hand, she decided her body couldn't handle the abuse and gave up on it. That night, in bed with Riddick, they could have been continents apart.

Riddick, ever the observant one, sat through the next months of his life waiting for some sort of dam to break. Whether it would be his dam, or hers, he didn't know, but it was, nevertheless, something to look forward to. As it happened, their timing proved to be exceptionally stellar. He'd gone hunting with Garreth, off-world, and was in the middle of driving a rather well-placed shiv through the beast's anatomical equivalent of a sweet spot, blood gushing warmly down his hand when the message came over the comms. Carolyn had beaten a guy half to death and the surviving half of him owed a great debt of gratitude to Lya, who had to tranq her Captain in the back just to stop her from mauling her victim's head against a slab of marble. Carolyn, consequently, was incarcerated. The victim had been Furyan.

Riddick was planet-bound in less the time it took to process the message and he was grinning all the way through it. Actually, he didn't stop, not even when he was faced with grimy bars and a derelict looking Carolyn with crusted blood and freshly picket scabs on her small, bony hands, though the grin had somehow subsided into a smirk by then. He passed through the make-shift prison with characteristic nonchalance, growled at some people for no particular reason, even though their persistent vociferations were just starting to get on his nerves, raped the digital lock on Carolyn's cell with his bare fist and got her out of there without saying much of anything.

He appropriated a mask of single-minded efficiency and wore it until Carolyn was squeaky clean and eyeing him dubiously under a jet of hot water. Contrary to popular belief, Riddick hadn't spent that much time in slam to actually develop prison issues related to sex in the shower and he was quite fond of it. Hot water and a hot woman all wrapped up in one earth-shattering orgasmic experience? Yes, please. Riddick would gulp it down and ask for seconds with greedy hands.

When he was satisfied enough to let Carolyn go – and, more importantly, when he ran out of hot water – he decided it was time to feed the budding danger to society just to get some of her former strength and weight back. And like with matters of the loins, Riddick was fierce and dictatorial about Carolyn's regime. He fed her good and told her not to worry about the extra calories. She was going to need them for what he had in mind.

Carolyn had a niggling suspicion of where he was going with this, but she was too far gone to care. She figured animals had a certain instinct for such things and that somehow Riddick knew what he was doing. Oh, he _knew_ what he was doing alright, so she decided to roll with the perks.

After a pleasurable while, the heaviness in both their arms started to feel right again.

'You know, between you and me, I don't know who's going to be the more fucked up parent.'

'Yeah, great prospects our kids will have.'

'They'll be contenders for sociopath of the year, I'll bet.'

'Hey, you know me, I'm all for future generations feeling some pain. Keep up the family business, so to speak.'

'They're gonna make us proud.'

Now, Riddick still keeps the occasional odd hours. And if he ever happens to wake up in puddles of blood, his mask of single-minded efficiency slips easily back in place, predictions and visions be damned. He carves his own future. And all his tomorrows start with Carolyn in his arms.

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who has read, reviewed, added, faved and, I hope, liked these stories. I promise the next one will be on the more cheery side. **

**PS:_ Carolyn_, according to "behind the name", means _little warrior._  
><strong>


	6. Chapter 6 Spring Tidings

**A/N: Because March is just around the corner and boy, do I need some spring (Europeans will get me), I thought I should treat you all to this short – and I hope funny – chapter I once wrote for my dear HopeK because her email about Riddick mugs inspired me so! I hope you enjoy!**

**DISCLAIMER: not mine! **

**WARNING: beware the crack. This fic should not be taken seriously!**

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><p><em><strong>HAPPY FIRST OF MARCH<strong>_

_- In which Carolyn is much aggravated by the coming of spring -_

**Mărţişor (IPA: [mə.'ʃor]) is the traditional celebration of the beginning of the spring in Romania, Moldova and Bulgaria, on 1 March. The day's name is the diminutive of March (in Romanian _Martie_), and thus means something like "little" or "dear March". It consists of a jewel or a small decoration like a flower, an animal or a heart, tied to a red and white string. It was believed that the one who wears the red and white string will be powerful and healthy for the year to come. The decoration is a symbol of the coming spring. A woman wears it pinned to her blouse or around her wrist on this day and up to two weeks after. **

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><p>It was a silly piece of string Shalimar, the good doc, had insisted on her wearing. Well, it was more like tying it around her bony wrist with the evil knot from Hell. Carolyn eyed it dubiously, scowled and swished her hand around, presumably to shake it off. The resilient little fucker stuck.<p>

"Are you trying to gain lift off or something? Sheesh, Fry, stop flapping your wings like that!"

Jack took hold of her hands when the frowning woman wouldn't knock off her antics.

"It won't come off, the persistent little fucker! GAH, I HATE THE STUPID THING!"

Her – darn it all to rotting hell – unsuccessful attempts at freedom from the red and white terror which mostly translated into more jiggling of her left wrist to no fruition earned an honest to God laugh out of the dark-haired teen. Or what ever she was these days.

"Jesus, Jack, it's not that funny! It's fucking ridiculous is what it is!"

"Who's _fucking_ ridiculous? Don't tell me Big Dick's turned into Get-_RID-_of_-DICK_ on you now, Captain! Girl's gotta have some standards!"

Great, leave it to Lya and her obsession with Big Things in Large Quantities (after all, it really had been her that had the sheer fucking brilliance to replace all cans in the mess hall with coffee mugs that had Riddick's photo with a barred WANTED across them – _mug shots, Captain, get it? Get it? _– though Carolyn did not feel particularly inclined to know just how "wanted" the man really was) to lighten her spirits. Or basically just set them on fire.

Everybody was a sex fiend these days. Riddick just shrugged his shoulders and mutter all noncommitantly like "Spring" and proceeded on ravaging her on the nearest available - as in warm, comfy and not so steep - surface whenever she'd have the slightest inclination of inquiring after their – the growing, _growing!-merciful-God-take-pity,_ population of Furya – professed "oozements" of sexuality. They barely got three hours of sun a day and the only chirping birds were the ones some of the children would catch only to promptly feed them to the colony of HellHounds that had taken residence in a nearby underground cave complex and still they called it Spring. Beasts! Each and every damn one of them!

"No!" Carolyn chocked out. "It's this stupid…string…thingy…"

Now she felt kinda retarded, what with Jack cringing in hysterical-laughter-induced-pain. They called it recovery. They were very fond of the kid, that they were. Somehow, Carolyn managed to Not. Be. Fond. Of. Crazy. Stupid. Idiotic. Braindead. Dead-ish. Twerp. With. Girly. Curls. Who. Laughs. At. Her. Expense.

Yes, Carolyn knew she was just weird like that and she would kill your motherfucking ass dead should you complain. Dead. People. Do. Not. Complain.

And yes! she likes to _e-nun-ci-ate_! So will you kindly get off her back and go die somewhere else, far, far, away? Like in another galaxy? Where the big fury apes dwell?

Whatever!

"Look, Captain! It has attached itself to your wrist! What is this vile thing?"

Where's a wall when you need one? She could use it to bang…errr…her head, dammit!, against…

It…

OHMYGODI'MTURNINGFURYAN!

NoNo, it could just be a bad – ok, severe – case of sex on the brain. That's all. Nothing to it. She was safely human and not running around, parading like sex on a stick. A large stick.

With SEX written on it…

"It's just a piece a'shit cloth!"…repulsive, obnoxious, clingy, freaking, darned, moronic, would-not-budge…"Get it off me already!"

Apparently, that got Jack all stary-eyed and evilly smirking. Carolyn would have tended to that if she'd…you know…cared.

"But, Captaaaain!" her 2IC whined, sounding like the pitiful 5 year old she was in her head. "It has fluff!"

That tickled when Lya nudged it around. Hey, she had sensitive joints!

"Cut that out! It's some sort of stupid charm and it does not have fluff. What it does have is your undivided attention – apparently! (and there goes the smack on the head and the very Lya-like pout and protestations – _Owww, Captain, that hurt!_ ) – so hurry the fuck up and untangle it or freakin' something! It's clogging my veins!"

Submissively, Lya began fumbling with the knot – stubborn little fucking tiny lump of freaking might as well be barb wire Captain's precious veins clogging dichromatic terror – but with, shockingly enough, no success.

"Yautjas couldn't break this thing, Captain!"

But Jack sure as Hell could. With a knife. That slid underneath the stringy monster, grazed coolly against pale skin and snapped it in two with a forward motion.

The women were silent. And Jack smiled her secret girl smile that had the power to out-sparkle three suns.

"Hey! Captain asked _me_ to do it!"

Lya was indignant in her stupidity.

Jack only further twiddled with the piece of string, till it morphed into a bow under her diligent fingers.

"Yeah, but I heard her first. Right, Fry?"

Silence.

By now, Lya was fascinated with the red and white string and the way Jack had it pinned with a needle in Carolyn's top. After all, she did have the attention span of an inbred ferret on crystal meth.

"What's it for, then?"

Jack took a step back to admire her handy work and looked at the spazzy second.

"It's supposed to bring power and health for whoever wears it in the year to come."

"Who says?"

"Shali says. She's into this stuff."

One did not contradict the Doc. It would just mess up one's karma.

"Oh."

Good, happy karma.

Then it hit Lya, like all things usually did.

Hard.

"Of course! Captain needs to be strong and healthy so she can produce the "Baby" out of The Lump That Is Baby!" and Lya patted the slightly and not yet figure un-complementing swollen abdomen that had grown on the still scrawny body of one Carolyn Fry.

Mercilessly, the blonde swatted the hand away.

"Do not touch it! You're contagious! And stop calling it a lump! It's just a natural enlargement of the uterus in order to accommodate whatever the fuck is growing in there!"

"Awwww, a tiny weenie mini Riddy….how cuuute!"

"That's it! I'm skewering you alive!"

Carolyn bolted after Lya – that alien maniac – leaving Jack in Nuclear Countdown mode.

The girl hefted a deep breath and started:

"5, 4, 3, 2, 1…"

"CAROLYN FRY, YOU MOVE OVER 5 MILES PER HOUR AND I'LL FREEZE YOUR PREGNANT ASS IN CRYO SO FAST YOU'LL STUTTER!"

Wasn't freeze the same thing as cryo? And did the Doc just cuss? Like randomly? And didn't Jack have better things to do? She did believe she heard a bird chirping. Oh, joy! Now, where was it coming from?...

….Meanwhile, Carolyn stopped dead in her tracks, watching Lya diminish in the distance, a gibberish trail of "Cranky Captain Carolyn! Crazy Captain Carolyn" left in her wake. With all the Furyan morning foot-traffic there to enjoy the show. Needless to say they had stopped trafficking quite a while ago, opting instead to ogle the pale faced woman with a silly red and white bow attached to the blouse covering the belly. With the baby inside.

One woman – one of'em tall and dark, leather-clad, wild-life looking Riddick mongering _Furyan sluts_ that Carolyn hated so much it was disgusting – actually had the gall to snort disdainfully down at the impregnated blue eyed blonde _human female_.

Carolyn straightened her back, pumped up her bow adorned chest and wobbled – all 5 miles per hour like – her way to the offending onlooker:

"Bitch, _please_! It is THAT CUTE!"

Just the way Riddick liked'em, Jack mused, while feeding a chirping bird to a howling hound.

Yep, spring.

Definitely.


	7. Chapter 7 Stuff of Dreams

_For S. Bell, whose very nice review guilt-tripped me into writing this. Thank you!_

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><p><em>- In which much is learnt while dreaming - <em>

There was a man in Carolyn's dreams that wasn't Riddick.

Granted, Riddick only made an appearance in some of her more disturbing nightmares and she'd rather have him living, breathing and obnoxious during her waking hours instead. And if you asked her truthfully, she'd say Riddick wasn't the stuff of dreams to begin with and whoever said so differently needed an overdue head check. Preferably with one of them whirring drills only a shady wannabe dentist could ever hope to master.

That being said, Carolyn didn't much like to dwell on the subject of the tall, darkened man in her dreams. But it was a comfort to dream of him, and Carolyn often felt submersed in a sea of safety whenever she closed her eyes and his figure loomed gently in her subconscious.

He smiled a lot, this man of mysterious kindness that came to her at night and especially in those nights when she was restless because her bed was empty of Riddick's solid warmth or because the baby growing within her was testing the elasticity of her ribs by poking around where he really shouldn't. Those were the nights when the man's smiles – a handsome quirk of the lips and a flash of pearly whites – were the most calming, his presence a balm, even though he never looked _at_ her so much as _through_ her. There was a whole world behind her - the world he belonged to, Carolyn supposed - but she never had the guts to turn around that fraction more and see for herself what it was that made a bear of a man grin like a supernova and radiate happiness all the way to people's dreams. Nevertheless, Carolyn was thankful for the little peace that she got from his reassuring presence, even if the love setting his eyes ablaze was not for her, but for the shadow lurking behind her back.

Sometimes it scared her - not the man, the gentle giant, with hands as big as Riddick's and blinding smiles that couldn't ever hope to match the smirks Riddick flashed her way when he was trying to wind her up and that she found - against all odds and basic common sense - sexy as hell - no, not him, but the presence that was beginning to make itself know somewhere in the depths of her slumbering mind. Powerful, wilful and unescapable.

And it was because of that, that Carolyn started fearing the night when she'd go to sleep and the darkness that would inevitably follow would change her happy dream man into an anguished, angry beast. She could see it, deep in his dream eyes – the darkness that she could never seem to shake off and that had haunted her steps the moment she took on, so many years ago, the long-haul flights into the coldness of space – and she hated it. Hated whatever it was - and she knew it would be - that would shatter the dream in millions of tiny, searing, sorrowful pieces. She slept closer to Riddick at nights and he would have called her on it if it weren't for the tenseness of her overburdened body that seemed to seep away whenever she was clinging tightly to his hand, his chest and, on one particularly awkward occasion, his shaved head.

Besides some rather endearing bouts of hormone driven rage, mainly directed at clothes that wouldn't fit, itched, gave her allergies or made her look like a mammoth tent – all direct quotes, of course – Riddick felt that Carolyn had managed to reach her sixth month of pregnancy without complications. Sometimes it was Riddick himself that felt uncharacteristically overwhelmed by the changes in her body. Every instinct he had was clamoring _Protect! Kill all who threaten!_ and if that made him a tad anti-social whenever people interacting with Carolyn were concerned he blamed it on an education wasted in the penal system. But Carolyn had a different view on the matter and one rather more independent than he'd care to like. He didn't appreciate being ignored and resented Carolyn's strutting around without _his _help whilst perfectly being able to be pregnant with _his _child. So, when she'd started unconsciously seeking him out when they slept, his male ego was rubbed in all the right ways.

It was when she woke up screaming herself raw in horror and pain that he began to truly worry. His first reaction was to slash at the shadows in their room with the shiv under his pillow with one hand and check for blood, to see if she was harmed, if the baby was fine, with the other. He was a bit taken aback – Riddick _didn't _do shocked, not even half asleep and disoriented – when Carolyn started chanting his name and see if _he _was alright. He had her in his arms faster than he could actually grasp how surreal the situation was becoming, but reality really kicked in when she'd drowned his shoulders in warm salty tears - or at least what he hoped were tears but could very well be mucus. Things were becoming slightly confusing what with her sobbing her heart out and clinging on to him for dear life and seeing that she wouldn't be letting go for a while, he rearranged their bodies to accommodate the baby bump and make the hysterical woman more comfortable in her misery.

Carolyn's arms were tightly wound around his neck and from time to time, between tears and snot, she'd kiss the skin of his shoulder. He was so patient, always so patient. And strong. God, so strong…

…and why was he suffocating her with his rumpled t-shirt?

"There we go, nice and clean…"

Carolyn sputtered indignantly and almost punched him square in the face when he blew her nose.

"That's right, let all those lil' buggers out…"

Then, she did punch him but Riddick unrepentedly confessed: "Better this than me…" and quickly dodged a flying left hook.

"Mind the baby, mind the baby…"

"I'm carrying the baby, you asshole!" and Carolyn promptly flung a pillow at him. Upon impact, the innocent by-stander turned vindictive projectile bounced off Riddick's frame and landed soundlessly on the floor where it underwent further hostile treatment via Riddick's disapproving looks. Of all the things that had been thrown at him in combat…

"What'd the pillow ever do to you?"

But Carolyn – now in control of the higher ground a.k.a the bed, after having driven her enemies literally to the floor – had reverted to sprouting bullet size tears from eyes that had gone as blue as deep oceans. And Riddick knew this because they took on the same reddish hue that the bottomless waters of Furya had in his warped vision. Looking at her now, Riddick had the feeling she wasn't really seeing him. She was in a sort of blind stupor, lost in whatever nightmare had crept back to her.

"Can you not see this?" she asked, her voice small and faraway.

The darkness in their room was on fire. But Riddick had learned long ago that there were some dreams, some visions, that you'd best ignore. Like this one, for example.

There was blood on the floor and on the bed and Carolyn was sitting right in the middle of it. Littered on the floor, bodies lay warmer in their deaths than they had been in their half-lives. Somewhere, near the window, a big man in an ill-fitting armour was crouching over a pregnant woman with a slim shiv in his hand. The woman was panting heavily, yet her voice had a steel edge to it, unbending, unyielding:

"…_yes….do it… it's alright…just do it…I trust…_"

The shiv went in with the precision of a Gama knife, the sound dirty and the blood thick. A bitter-sweet spot.

And just like that, the woman went into labor.

It was gruesome to watch, really.

Riddick could stomach it solely because it had a sick fascination to it: two people taking and giving life in a synchronized act that had been sanitized of any human feeling other than the all too familiar instinct of racial preservation. Kill your young to save your young. Or pretend to do it, anyway.

The squelching, screaming, red baby, insanely small for its seven and a half months spent in the sheltering darkness of the dying woman's womb, was thrust in his father's steady hands with a terminal push. The woman died with a silent wail. The big man, his eyes aglow, stood there watching, his hands, big and precise, working relentlessly, _artistically_, to fake a believable death for the small, living creature he had ruthlessly ushered into a world on the brink of destruction. And all the while, he kept whispering, to his wife, to his child, to all the freshly dead of his kind and for their eternal redemption:_…for you…for you…for you…_

The light of the Furyan moons filtered through the dreamscape and onto Riddick and Carolyn's room as soon as the baby went tumbling down a shaft and into the liquor store trash bin of legend. And just like that, the room was silvery bright again and the bed sheets rumpled, the pillow looking forlorn on the pristine floors.

Riddick was not the overly sentimental type and _his_ dreams were dangerous places to tread, but for Carolyn to dream of the people who gave him life, no matter how twisted and dark it had been, for that he'd tap the hidden part of him that the spoke - in very soft, hushed tones - of humanity. And this time, the answer really mattered.

"Were they happy?" he asked in a voice that didn't crack as much as it ripped through a dense fabric of sadness.

Carolyn thought of the smiling man in her dreams, tall, bright and immensely happy.

"Yes. Very."

Riddick then looked at her with his eyes that couldn't see colours anymore and silently prayed the only prayer he had ever known: _It's you...it's you, only you...not for me...for you...always... _He smiled, rather sadly.

"…you know," Carolyn started, the brief display of emotions on Riddick's face having unearthed in her a deeply rooted desire to make things perfectly clear ,"no matter what apocalypse we go through, I'm _**never**_ letting you gut me with a knife! So don't you be getting any ideas!"

"Saved _my_ life, didn't it?"

"Saving your life is my job! I don't want you getting artsy with a shiv just to prove a point! You play heroic and people just end up dead and I'll be having none of that, you hear me?"

"Now I could be wrong" and Riddick was never wrong just as much as he was never completely right "but it seems to me you sayin' you're a better hero than me…"

Carolyn scoffed and surreptitiously wiped a stray tear while she was at it:

"Damn straight, boy! I'm epic like all get out."

With all the grace of an ingratiated panther, Riddick stretched towards the bed, crowding a slightly larger Carolyn on to her back.

"Sometimes, I wonder why you keep me around…" he slurred between a kiss to the scar on her forehead and one to her chapped lips.

"Sex. For the epic sex."

And for the first time that night, Riddick laughed a deep, happy laugh that put his father's sincere smiles right in the shadows of the past, where they belonged. For Carolyn, for their future and her oncoming pleasure, he'd keep his back of the hero bus seat just a little while longer.

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><p><em>AN: At the moment canon is very shady on the subject of Riddick's parents. In my world, they are both gone. And the scene of their death – and Riddick's birth – though only glimpsed in this chapter, will probably be more detailed later on. That being said, thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it!_

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><p><em>AN 2: Just a little edit, inspired by **hayj**. Thanks!  
><em>


	8. Chapter 8 PART 1

**Three times Riddick lost Carolyn and one time he didn't**

**PART 1**

In the beginning, she'd vanish for months on end, not that she'd ever admit it. She'd argue in was her duty as a Wraith of Deep Space to take the Kumari and high tail it off the planet, like a irritating blonde little thief in the night, but Riddick was too much of an escape artist himself not to see it for what it was: Carolyn's personal brand of running away, test the borders of her newfound freedom, fight his more dominant and territorial tendencies as a Furyan Alpha Male. At first, he stayed put, trusting her to come back on her own. Carolyn was not Jack. She could take care of her shit just fine, his survivor girl. And most importantly, when she did return, all wide eyed and meek, Riddick could start implementing his guilt tripping plan. His sweet smelling Carolyn was so ripe for that, he'd have felt sorry for her, had he been the bigger person. But since Riddick was not overtly known for his badass leniency, he went balls deep into Carolyn, until she passed out. He figured that would keep her planet bound for a while.

It didn't stop her for long though. He'd fuck her raw one morning, only to come back to an empty bed in the evening. And that was before they had started fighting – about her health, about her duties, about the babies she was going to give him. He'd tracked her down a couple of times too. But that just made her angry and angry Carolyn was vicious. Not that he gave a damn, but contrary to popular belief, he'd never forced himself on a woman. Most of the times, it was the other way around, women throwing themselves wantonly at him. True, in similar situations, Carolyn was mindless too, but she had a wicked aim and a mean punch and some nifty gear and he just couldn't be bothered with that. Deep down in his heart, however, Riddick was man enough to admit that he feared he might hurt her if he went all serious on her. This woman had a way with aggravating the animal within and blurring the lines between pleasure, pain and a serious ass whooping, it was unbelievable.

It was in such moments that Riddick was reminded of another blue eyed devil he had once known. John had died by his blade and he regretted none of that sorry ass business, but sometimes he missed their cat and mouse game and John's almost intimate knowledge of the workings of Riddick's highly intelligent mind. Whereas Johns had been ruthless and high on morphine and his own fucking ego, his little Carolyn was reckless and a bit crazy. A bit lost and it chafed Riddick that he couldn't anchor her down. Chains, although a very hot look on her, worked as much on Carolyn as they did on him. Which was not at all. So Riddick had to get all creative.

The longest time she went AWOL – and he couldn't stress _without leave_ enough – was way over 6 months. He'd obstinately refused to chase her down, even when Jack came begging, with a put upon Gwen in her wake. Gwendolen had refused to look at him for the entire fucking time, though Jack had been quick to change tactics. But he didn't like to think about that. He resented having to think bad things about Jack. It pulled something criminal in his heart. He wanted Jack missing Carolyn at least half as much as he pretended not to, not secretly rejoicing at her absence. But then again, he had wanted a great many things for Jack that didn't quite come to pass, so he resigned himself to ushering a half naked Jack out of his house and locking the door behind him.

When he exhausted all means of flushing Carolyn clean out of his system without a modicum of success and the space port whores started giving him dubious stares, he began skirting around the idea that he had lost her for good. Naturally, this meant a whole lot of people would have to meet their violent and untimely end, but he still felt somewhat disappointed. Luckily, Riddick didn't have to entertain that feeling for long, as Carolyn bled her way back to Furya's Colonial Hospital, sporting several wounds and quite a few acid burns.

When Doc Shalimar finally allowed him into her unit, Carolyn dimmed the lights so he could pull his goggles off and looked him squarely in the eye and very carefully, as to not upset the fresh skin graphs on her face, said: "I'm getting too old for this shit."

"You're staying." It wasn't a question, even though Carolyn half expected it would be.

"Might as well. Someone's gotta keep you in line. Bring you back when you finally decide to jump fence." If Carolyn was accusing him of something, he really couldn't – wouldn't – tell.

Taking a seat near her cot, he grinned wolfishly at her: "You're just sore I'm more popular than you."

She smiled and it lit up her face. "Sometimes, Riddick, when I'm around you, I swear my job is only to keep whore houses out of business."

"Gotta start somewhere."

"Yeah, gotta start…"

After that, the drugs kicked in and she dozed off, but Riddick never left. He never really could.

_**To Be Continued...**_

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><p><strong>AN: Dear S. Bell, I'm so sorry I couldn't deliver a new chapter last week. I'm a little caught up in other projects at the moment, but I thought a fourth of a chapter is better than no chapter at all. Hope you enjoyed and stay tuned for the rest!**


	9. Chapter 9 PART 2

**A/N: Well, hello. Welcome to Part Two of ****Three times Riddick lost Carolyn and one time he didn't.**** I didn't expect to write this, but I was watching an episode of Banshee lat night and today I was late for work trying to finish this up. Apparently, Riddick 3 left quite an impression on me (yay for how my brain works!). So, there you go, enjoy!**

**DISCLAIMER: not mine. Oh, and there might be some mature, irresponsible reference people might find offensive. Just sayin'.**

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><p><strong>- <em>L<em>**_**ost to pain – **_

Carolyn, Riddick soon discovered, had a lot of fixed ideas that she used to lead her life by. Unfortunately for her, most of them made shit sense. Riddick was no stranger to pain, broken bones and torn muscles had been part and parcel of his half-life on the run, and he'd fixed most of them himself. It was just one of those things that stuck with him from his Ranger days. Truthfully, he healed fast too, but as he wasn't big on giving thanks in general, he'd counted his sparse blessings and didn't think much about it.

Now, Carolyn, she was way better at patching herself up than he'd ever been. It was those sharp survival instincts of hers – and probably the medicomp strapped to the fancy Pred wrist gear that he was definitely not jealous of. But she had a bit of the healing touch about her and he liked to fantasize that in some other life she'd've made a great nurse. When she wanted to, she could be real gentle – he'd seen her tend to the wounded with calm, precise gestures and warm, soothing whispers; people had drifted blissfully out of life in her strong arms and she'd close their eyes with a noble sort of reverence.

(She was never like that with him, mind you. Whenever he got a bit roughed up, she'd forcefully grab him and subject him to a great deal more pain than he'd initially experienced, prodding him with mercilessly cold fingers and sharp, pointy needles, and daring him to complain with those big, pale eyes of hers – they turned pink in his vision then and he knew he was in trouble, so he kept his mouth shut and only grunted once in a while when she got particularly uncharitable).

But there were days when she was the one hurting. And for the longest time, she chose to ignore it, mulishly refusing help and being a grumpy bitch about it. Riddick didn't mind it half as much though. Carolyn's bitchiness made for an interesting sex life. But he couldn't get a proper fuck when her body screeched like an old rusty door if he so much as touched her. Her back ached the most. She'd spent nights without count on the terrace of their house, doubled over and hanging onto the rail for dear life, because she couldn't stand up – or down – straight. It was his wound, the raptor wound, with its long tendrils of scarred flesh that seemed to contract and clench around her like the strongest chains he'd ever worn.

She'd never show her face to him in those moments, but he knew her eyes would shine bright with tears.

_There's no one here to see you weak, _his big warm hands messaging her back seemed to say. But by the way every fiber of her being tensed under his ministrations, the answer wasn't very flattering.

_There's you._

When he'd approached the Doc about it, Shalimar was quite surprised.

"But Captain doesn't take pain killers. She'd welcome a bout of plague faster than a shot of morphine. Says it dulls her mind. It's a Yautja thing, I suppose. Some sort of endurance test: live through the pain, never show weakness, all a steaming pile of alien machoism, of course".

Shalimar had a habit of wrinkling her nose in distaste whenever she spoke of the Preds.

"Which is not even entirely accurate, you know. They do have pain relievers, but the vial was removed from the Captain's medicomp, because it's toxic for the human body. Brain damage, you see."

"That ain't much help, Doc."

The Doc gave Riddick a strange look.

"It's the back, isn't it?"

Riddick groaned. Shalimar preached.

"It comes and goes. As she grows older, naturally older, such things will occur more frequently, I'm afraid. Our bodies, Mr. Riddick, are vengeful elephants. They do not forget injury. An aging mind may slip seamlessly into oblivion, but an aging human body remembers all the trauma inflicted onto it. I suggest you get used to it. You haven't even reached the prime of your lifespan. There's a big chance you will outlive her, as you will do all of us. It's the curse and blessing of your Furyan genes. Why, your grandfather, Amadan the Great, lived twice the span of a human life!"

Riddick didn't like to be reminded of that. Seemed most of his dead family had made quite the impression on worrying numbers of Deep Space dwellers. They spoke of legends and heroes and deeds done by people who were nothing to him but a strand of matching DNA.

Shalimar meant well, he knew, and the good Muslim doctor was devoted to tending to Carolyn's good health. But Riddick was stubborn. More so than Shalimar's Captain. He'd not lose this battle, even if, genetically speaking, he was rigged to lose the war.

(He'd see about that, though. He'd rigged plenty of dices in his unnaturally long life to know how to play the game and come on top).

So, the next time Carolyn left his bed to suffer in solitude, he was prepared.

Carolyn stared incredulously at him. In her anger, she almost seemed to have forgotten the pain. Riddick clocked that for future reference.

"Pot?! You brought me _pot_?!"

"I like to call it herbal pain reliever. For medicinal purposes."

"It's pot!"

"Looks like it, don't it? But it's not. It comes with a prescription."

"So does morphine. Doesn't make it less of a _drug!_"

"Doc says the worst it'll do is put you to sleep."

Or get her laughing uncontrollably until she passed out, but he was oddly looking forward to spectating some of that, so he kept that tidbit of information to himself.

"You want to drug me?! Why don't you just shoot horse tranq up my ass?"

"Tempting, but no. You'd wake up numb after that. This, however…"

"Get that shit away from me!"

He didn't. He crowded her aching self with his larger frame, knowing that even if she did put up a fight, her balance would be way off. Tonight, she hunched.

"Now, we could do this the easy way. Two puffs and it's off to LaLa land. I promise I won't even take advantage of that." He would. Carolyn drooled when she was out of it. "But we could also do this the hard way. And we play for pain. You and me."

"Don't make this into a challenge", Carolyn hissed.

He was and he should've known better. Damned woman did that to him.

"There's no challenge, 'cause there's no option. Now, be a good girl and…"

She wrenched the inhaler out of his hand and took a good look at the smoke twirling in its transparent container. The contraption looked more high-end than the stuff on the back streets of every space port she'd ever docked on in her life, but she didn't like it then and she fucking hated it now, ever since Johns…

Really, all she could think of was the merc's impossibly steady hand injecting his daily dose of morphine into his blue, blue eye.

And just like then, it was all Riddick's fault. She felt the anger spring to life and just as she was about to smack the inhaler against Riddick stupid bald head, she caught the look in his eyes. Silvery and hard, starring her down, and in their depths, an indecipherable sadness he usually hid pretty well.

"What if I get addicted?"

"You're already a masochist. Think of it as a promotion."

"I'm serious."

"I'll have you shot in the head, stabbed in the back, whatever you like. I know someone. Real pro-like with a gun. Clean, too."

Carolyn growled. She did it at a higher key than he'd normally go for, but she was still aggravatingly cute.

She eyed the inhaler and dangled the glass container a bit to rattle up the smoke inside.

"Doc's finest."

"So, how much?"

"Twice a day, every day."

That earned him a punch, which he courteously let connect on account of her suffering.

Carolyn hobbled with the inhaler back to bed.

"Two puffs, right?"

Riddick nodded, overcome with a sudden scientific interest. The good Doc had brought out her chemistry set, trying to synthesize something out of the Pred morphine that wouldn't fry Carolyn's circuitry altogether. He'd even offered to have it tested on himself, since his synapses were basically human. His vision got a bit blurry, like he'd stared too long into the sun. The thick needle Shalimar stuck into his thigh didn't even register.

On the other side of the room, sitting precariously on the edge of the bed, Carolyn took two puffs. It was painfully obvious she'd never done such things before, by the way she grimaced when the smoke hit her lungs. His Carolyn, a good girl, through and through.

"Never lost a college bet ever, huh?"

"'Course I did" Carolyn answered tiredly, while rubbing her eyes. "But I like something more substantial in my mouth than a flimsy inhaler."

"I can accommodate that."

"You promised you wouldn't take advantage."

_Fuck._

"I lied."

"I know."

That night Carolyn slept peacefully, clutching Riddick's bedside dagger in her hand.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: So, what did you think of the new Riddick installment? I quite enjoyed it myself.**


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